


Instincts

by XiDu (orphan_account)



Category: Nurses - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2008, recipient:Hecate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/XiDu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some addictions can never be beaten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instincts

Margo told her she had good instincts but didn't know how to use them. Eve thinks about this for a long time afterwards before acknowledging the truth of it. Instincts have ruled her life. Often they've brought her nothing but disappointment. Perhaps she should learn to play on her instincts in addition to listening to them, manipulate them as well as they seem to manipulate her.

She's working the graveyard shift. It's just after four thirty in the morning, the loneliest time of the day: too late for drunks and party people, too early for victims of the rush hour. This is the time when most people die peacefully in their sleep.

The floor is quiet, so Eve takes her break and slips out to the cafeteria. It's empty. The mingled smells of cooked cheese, stale coffee and lemon disinfectant tickle her senses. Across the room, one of the fluorescent strip-lights flickers on and off. She watches it for a moment, reminded of the bad old days, the flash of nightclub strobes and the taste of sweat and the virulent kick of the drugs churning in her veins.

She slots a few coins into the drinks machine and collects the Coke that rolls out. The can is so cold it almost burns her hand as she carries it over to a table. She sits with her back to the flickering light but she can still hear its erratic buzz. Maybe she should call maintenance and have them fix it before the day shift begins.

The door squeaks open and Kurt comes in. He looks exhausted, so exhausted he doesn't notice her at first. When he does, he stops and stares, his face unreadable. Eve has become an expert at deciphering such expressions. She knows he wants to turn and walk out. It's a shame Becca and the others aren't here so they could take bets on it.

He hesitates just long enough to make a big deal out of it before he joins her. He drags over a chair and sits, his gaze going to the unopened Coke. His mouth twitches into the semblance of a smile. "That stuff's addictive."

She knew he was going to say that. Disappointment brushes against her. "How predictable," she says, and hears the brittle quality of her voice.

He takes no notice. "Yeah, well. I'm not the only predictable one."

Eve knows it's a dig at her past behaviour. Anger builds as she thinks of how much she's done, how much pain and effort it's cost her to get this far - and yet he still dismisses her as predictable. If he'd caught her doing a line, she'd be predictable. Making a life for herself is different. It demands respect, a respect he's not prepared to grant her.

She cracks open the Coke, listening to the hiss of the escaping gas. Deliberately, she takes a long swig. The sweet caramel taste reminds her of her first boyfriend. Six years older than her and dangerous, he rode a motorbike and wore vintage denim. He took his bourbon neat and mixed hers with Coke; doubles, triples. She was thirteen.

Her expression must've given her away, because Kurt looks embarrassed. There's regret in his eyes when he says, "I didn't come here to fight."

She's surprised then she's wary, mistrusting her emotions more than his overtures. She remembers the time when she adored him, looked up to him. She remembers with absolute clarity the day he'd told her that he was her big brother now, and big brothers always took care of their little sisters. Bullshit, all of it. At fifteen, both instinct and experience had taught her that men lied. Why should Kurt be any different? But she'd wanted to believe him.

The memory still has the power to hurt her. Eve taps a nervous rhythm against the edge of the can. "You don't want to fight because you know you'd lose."

"I've lost too much already."

She takes another pull from the can and decides to misunderstand him. "Becca likes fooling around. You heard her - she only hooked up with you because you were the last guy on the floor."

"Not Becca." He studies the table, rubs a finger against a coffee stain. "Time. I've lost too much time."

Eve exhales. She wants to feel sorry for him, but she can't. Not yet. Not when he's still making cheap cracks at her expense. Not when he doesn't believe in her.

"Don't talk to me about losing time," she says. "I lost far more, but I'm not going to sit here and whine about it. As far as I'm concerned, you gained more than you lost."

Kurt blinks. He always seems so surprised at her vehemence whenever their father is mentioned in conversation. She wonders if he ever really understood the damage he did to her when he took her father away. She'd like to do that to him, remove someone he loves from his life piece by piece, making them transfer their affections and pride and praise.

But no - she can't blame him entirely. Her father was just as bad, seeking distraction from his wife's death in a hasty second marriage. Who cared about the smart-mouthed, rebellious girl who'd already run away from home? Who would have thought she'd be mourning her mother? They'd turned away from her, left her to her bad boys and drink and drugs, judging her without ever asking her thoughts or opinions.

Her father still hates the idea she had opinions, and Kurt - he feels threatened. It should be a good feeling, a victorious feeling, but Eve knows it's a hollow triumph. She still has a long way to go.

"You never got it, did you?" Kurt looks at her and shakes his head. "You didn't understand. It was hard for me, too. To suddenly become your brother, when I felt - when I knew..."

He stops, his mouth twisting. Eve imagines it's because he's disgusted. He's probably remembering the day he walked in on her fucking her boyfriend in their parents' bed. Her shrink had had a field day with that one, all that Freudian angst. She remembers the horror on Kurt's face and the way she'd laughed at him. It had felt like revenge. How stupid she'd been, how ignorant.

"And now you're here," he continues when she doesn't say anything. "Why? Is it about attention? Jealousy? I'm not your rival, Eve."

"No. You're my conscience." She makes it sound like a bad thing. "My conscience never agrees with my instinct. Funny, that."

"And which one is usually right?" He raises an eyebrow, challenging her.

She shrugs. Her instincts have led her astray, muffled her conscience too many times. Instinct led her to the brink of death. The OD hadn't been a cry for help. It had been a slap in the face for all the men who'd disappointed her. But as she'd learned in therapy, all those men were nothing more than symbols for the two people who'd let her down the most - her father and Kurt.

Of course, neither of them had seen it that way. They'd assumed it was a pathetic attempt at gaining their attention, a last-ditch effort to bring them to her side. Both stayed away, exercising their right to be cruel to be kind.

Eve traces the lettering on the Coke can, squashing the droplets of moisture beading the outside. "Maybe I don't trust either of them," she says. "My instincts are good but misdirected. My conscience wants to do the right thing but keeps screwing up."

He snorts. "What does your shrink say to that?"

She thinks of the slide of bare skin over a leather couch, and smiles. "What he said isn't important anymore."

"Why do you have to be like that? You never need anyone. You're so damn hard." Kurt lifts his hands, the first gesture of despair she's ever seen him make. There's frustration in his tone. "I don't know, Eve. You never let anyone close."

"It's easier that way."

"Sure. For you." He looks at her, almost pleading. "What about the rest of us?"

For a moment she stares at him in surprise. Then she leans across the table and kisses him, violent and sudden, the way she's wanted to kiss him since she was fifteen.

When she pulls back, he gasps. He's breathing fast, his colour high and his body tense. "What the hell was that for?"

Eve smiles like she's only just remembered how to do it. "To show you I'm not hard."

He touches his lip gingerly. "You used your teeth."

Now she laughs. "Maybe I'm still wild at heart."

Kurt stares at her, and there's something fragile in his expression. "You seduced your shrink, didn't you."

She says nothing, and he seems to take her silence as an answer. He sighs, and the look on his face prompts her to snap, "What if I did?"

"I wanted it to be me." The words blurt from him before he can stop them. He puts a hand to his mouth again as if to take back what he's said. He blushes and gets to his feet with clumsy haste. His lips move and then he finds his voice again, but he can't meet her gaze. "I mean, I wanted to be the one to help you."

He looks at her, agony and desire in his eyes, and then he leaves in a hurry.

Eve watches him go. The door slams shut.

She finishes her drink and crushes the soft metal of the Coke can in her hand before throwing it toward the trash. It misses, bounces off the rim and clatters to the floor. The sound shocks her, even though she was expecting it.

Her instincts tell her that he lied, but the rational part of her knows he spoke the truth. Perhaps men can be as complex as women. Perhaps he can lie and tell the truth at the same time. And perhaps, just perhaps, she's confused the hell out of him - just as he's always been able to confuse the hell out of her.

Sometimes instinct isn't enough.

But it'll do for now.


End file.
